


The House Rules

by kleine_aster



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Awkwardness, Brothers, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:18:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleine_aster/pseuds/kleine_aster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian Wayne brings a surprise guest to dinner, and the rest of the family has a couple things to say about that, especially Bruce Wayne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“So, what do you think Damian’s date is like?“ Dick Grayson asked, not for the first time, sounding way too excited for someone who’d supposedly entered maturity a good while ago.

Tim Drake tried not to roll his eyes. “Well, he’s a pathological showoff, so I’m expecting a black-belt supermodel with a degree in physics, who also designs weapons-grade technology for the Secret Service,” he said dryly.

It sounded like a joke, and Dick laughed accordingly, but all in all, that was what Tim was actually expecting. Damian had ridiculously high standards for even the soap that was to be placed in his second bathroom on the third floor (and the kicker was, he didn’t even care for toiletries, he just made a point about being hard to please); so now that he’d decided to enter the dating scene at eighteen, the rest of them better held on to their hats.

Apart from that – in the back of his mind, Tim _hoped_ it would be a ludicrously overqualified supermodel, or some such.

Because the alternative was so, so much worse.

A week ago, Damian had interrupted Sunday dinner for “an announcement” (right when Tim was telling Bruce that exciting story about his trip to Tibet, too), and had told them that he’d be bringing “a person” to dinner next week, and that he’d appreciate it if none of them “embarrassed him”, looking very pointedly at Tim Drake, who was known for many things, embarrassing people not being one of them. Tim had simply stared at him, popped a grape in his mouth, squashed it, and let the whole thing slide. Damian had taken the stunned silence around the table as agreement, concluded, “Good talk,” and sat down again, continuing to massacre his lobster.

Ever since then, Tim Drake had felt a certain nervous apprehension in his stomach.

Damian Wayne had been on an official date exactly once, as far as he could remember. It had been some debutante ball, and Bruce had set him up with a famous, sweet, impossibly pretty teenage pop singer. Damian had absolutely dazzled her by whirling her through a pitch-perfect Paso Doble. And then, he’d spent the rest of the evening detailing to her all 57 ways you could murder a person using only a drinking straw and a wristwach. They’d ended up not dating again.

The terrible thing was, Tim wasn’t sure if Damian had freaked her out for his own twisted amusement, or if he genuinely believed this was a good topic. (Tim actually agreed that this was a pretty good topic. But not for a date with a civilian.)

All this filled Tim with concern. Damian was smart, and he was a good Robin, too, but there was something in his nature that had never been tamed. There still was a slim chance he’d start murdering nurses once he went to college.

Of course, Dick Grayson didn’t see any of that; he thought it was _adorable_. He’d been pinching Damian’s cheeks all day (or attempted to), teasing him and asking him questions until the boy had threatened to put a fork through him (not _in_ him; _through_ him).

Of course, Dick Grayson didn’t know what Tim knew, he hadn’t seen what he and Bruce had seen, and somehow, they’d missed the perfect time window to tell him.

“I wonder if it’s a guy or girl,” Dick went on merrily, while they were putting the finishing touches on the salad they’d offered Alfred to make. He elbowed Tim, winking at him. “Hey, maybe it’s one of ours! You know, another mask. I could see it. Could you see it? I could definitely see it. Or - ” He seemed barely able to contain his excitement. “Maybe it’s a villain! We haven’t had that in so long!”

“Yeah,” Tim replied uneasily. “And that always works out so great, too.” He blinked at him, nervously, and licked his lips. “Listen, Dick, it’s probably nothing, but there’s something you should know – ”

He was cut off by the melodic sounds of the doorbell.

“There’s the date!” Dick put down the olive oil and made for the door. “Let’s have a look!”

Tim grabbed his arm, trying to hold him back, but that only resulted in Dick dragging him with like an over-motivated Golden Retriever. “No, seriously, Dick, listen. I – ”

Well. Perhaps he was being paranoid. Tim knew that Bruce had looked into it right after Damian’s announcement, and had found no indication that these two were…meeting up again. But then, there were few people as good at covering their tracks than – 

“Hi,” said Jason Todd.

Dick came to a halt in the entrance hall, looking about as shocked as if an inter-dimensional portal had opened up in front of him. Tim stayed put next to him, frowning, though not half as surprised.

Alfred, as always, seemed completely unperturbed.

“Mr Todd,” he greeted their guest. Tim noticed that he avoided saying “Master Jason”, or “Jason”, therefore treating him like a distant acquaintance. “I have to say, it is good to see you well.”

Tim squinted. He did look…well, sort of. He’d fixed his hair and shaved off the stubble, the dark rings under his eyes didn’t seem quite as dramatic as he remembered, and he’d gotten himself a suit. Tim still wanted to smack that lopsided smirk off his face, though. He had a bottle of red under his arm, and was clutching a little pink box with a bow around it in his hands.

For all it was worth, Jason either was a great actor, or he was sincerely excited to see Alfred again. 

“You too, Alfred,” he said, offering up the box he was holding like a peace signal. “I brought wine, and cupcakes from Fido’s.”

Tim winced as Dick’s fingers suddenly dug into his arm. “Tim?” He hissed questioningly, sounding appropriately alarmed. “Tim? _Tim?!_ What - ”

He sighed. “Yes.”

Dick groaned. “No.”

“Fido’s is an excellent choice, Sir. And the wine is … from a department store. How thoughtful.” Alfred accepted the package, still blocking the door so that Jason would have to bowl him over to enter. Tim could see Alfred subtly assess the weight of the box to make sure it actually contained pastries. If it did, they would most definitely receive some poison testing in the kitchen, too.

Apparently, the little pink box checked out. “Welcome,” Alfred said, stepping aside to let Jason in. “May I take your jacket?”

There was a gleam in Jason’s eyes as he entered, seeing the insides of Wayne Manor for the first time in years. His face flushed as he took a look around. It reminded Tim of his own awe and happiness when he’d first come here. That was a weird parallel and he didn’t like it. He’d made fists as soon as Jason had stepped through the door. Who knew if he might need them.

“Place looks great,” he told Alfred almost coyly, while he peeled off his leather jacket (who wore a suit and a leather jacket?!). “I, uh. I’m assuming there’s still no smoking in here?”

“Out on the veranda, if you please,” Alfred said, taking the piece of clothing. “I’ll bring you an ashtray.” His lips twitched. “As well as those health pamphlets I’ve saved up for you.”

Jason grinned at that. “I’ll take the _ashtray_ , Alfred, thanks.”

Despite the caution, there was an element of genuine warmth between Alfred and their guest. Tim didn’t like that, either.

That moment passed quickly, though. Because right then, Jason noticed them standing there, and the room temperature dropped a couple of degrees. Tim could feel Dick tense next to him.

The minutes stretched, and for a good while, there was something in the air between them, palpable.

But then, Jason grinned that shit-eating grin that Tim hated so much, and nodded curtly in their direction. “Butters. Kyle.”

Tim relaxed his fists and crossed his arms in front of his chest instead. “Oh good, he knows 90’s television,” he muttered under his breath. “Sure, that’s embarrassing for _us_.”

Jason glared at him. “You don’t have to talk like I’m, y’know, not sentient. I’m right here. I can hear you.”

He could tell it took Dick all his strength to utter, “You’re here for Damian?”

For a few beats, Jason looked almost embarrassed. Then, he defiantly said, “Yeah?”, sounding way more defensive than he’d probably intended.

Tim could tell that these were devastating news to Dick, but he took it well. “Then I take it you’re still familiar with the house rules,” he said icily. “No weaponry at Sunday dinner.”

“Dumb rule.”

All their heads turned at once when they heard that cold, snappy voice. Damian Wayne was descending the stairs like it was prom night. He wore an exquisitely tailored velvety black suit, his best shoes, and had somehow made his hair look…okay. Oh god, he’d _dressed up for his date_.

He was smiling, too. It was always so freaky when he was smiling.

Tim tried his best not to groan. He should’ve just hit Gotham Burger on his way home and called it a night. 

“Dumb rule, but he knows, Grayson,” Damian drawled, eyeing his guest like a Fido’s cupcake, “And besides, we have a metal detector built into the entrance for a reason. He couldn’t smuggle a razor under his tongue in here if he tried.”

Somehow, Jason didn’t seem to mind _Damian_ talking about him in third person. His eyes were glinting as he cocked his brow. “A razor under the tongue,” he growled. “Right. If this was the Eighties. And…prison.”

Damian had arrived at the foot of the stairs. “You came.”

“’course I did.”

They approached each other, and Tim hated to admit that Jason scored some points when he leaned down and gave Damian a chaste little kiss on the cheek instead of doing something wildly inappropriate just to be a jackass.

It was kind of a nice kiss, too, like, genuinely affectionate.

Still, also vaguely terrifying. It was like seeing a velociraptor make out with Megatron. It was…just twisted and wrong.

Next to him, Dick Grayson looked all sorts of mortified.

“You look good,” Jason told Damian. The boy responded by giving him a smoldering look that Tim would never be able to unsee.

“We have time before dinner, right?” Damian asked in Dick’s and Tim’s direction before grabbing his date’s bulky arm. “You’re coming with me. To my room. You’ll look at all my trophies.”

“That sounds great.” There was some sleaziness creeping into Jason’s smile as he followed him willingly, to which Dick finally shouted: “ _Hold on_.”

The pair stopped, and Damian turned with a telltale scowl on his face. “What. He’s going to see my room, anyway. We’re having a sleepover.”

Seldom had the word _sleepover_ sounded less innocent.

Dick’s jaw clenched, which was a rare sight outside of battle. “No you’re not.”

Damian cracked his knuckles; his voice had arrived at sub-zero. “Excuse me. I live here. Do you live here? Because I live here.”

Oh please no. If Dick and Damian started a fight, they’d be here all week. 

Not that Tim wasn’t siding with Dick, though.

He wasn’t the only one. “I live here as well, Master Damian,” said Alfred, who had returned from stowing away the wine and cupcakes, and had heard the whole thing. “And I’m happy to remind you that Wayne Manor boasts 12 guest bedrooms, one of which Mr Todd might gladly occupy, should this _sleepover_ come to pass.”

 _Which it absolutely won’t_ , was what his voice implied.

“Those are all bugged, Alfred!” Jason interjected, sounding hurt. Alfred ignored him, which seemed to sting Jason a little. 

“I’m assuming your father is informed about you inviting overnight guests?” Alfred asked Damian, to which the boy just fumed and said nothing.

“Very well,” the butler said. “The gazpacho soup will be served in 15 minutes. Might I suggest you wait in the salon, instead.” Again, in a voice that clearly communicated _you will not be taking him to your room, young man._

Damian was baffled at that. “But…soup always tastes the same!” he protested, nonsensically.

“That has nothing to do with anything!” Dick pointed out angrily.

“I’m a _grownup_ , Grayson, you can’t – ”

“Oh really? Because let me tell you something, _sleepover_ is not a word that _grownups_ use – ”

“What’s that? Sure! Be right there!” Tim said, even though no-one had called for him, and got the hell out of there.

He found Bruce in his study, trying to pick a bow tie. He looked up as Tim gave the doorframe a knock. He seemed so calm and relaxed this evening that it nearly broke his heart to have to do this. “Ah, Tim. Which one do you think? The ruby one … or the …”

Tim grimaced. Better rip that band aid off real quick.

“Yeah…it’s him,” he reported.

Then, he was almost knocked over as Bruce stomped past him, arms swinging and cold, steely determination in his eyes, to join the unfortunate scene in the entrance hall.

Tim sighed. Usually, these rare Sunday dinners at the Wayne Estate were a source of peace and tranquility. And it was a near miracle they’d managed to meet up to weeks in a row. It seemed especially precious because their lives where so violent and full of strife; an entire evening of just being in a room with people they deeply trusted. 

Of course, Damian had to violate the “no weaponry” rule by inviting Jason Todd.

Right now, Tim wished he was a smoker. Hanging out alone on the veranda for a couple minutes seemed very attractive. Perhaps he could suck on a piece of carrot.

Aw, what the heck. He turned around, and caught up to Bruce.

Dick and Damian were still tittering at each other when they arrived, like only people that were close could titter at each other. Alfred watched the whole display, complacent, yet observant. Jason looked back and forth between them, torn between looking jealous, filled with Schadenfreude, and contemplating a strategic exit.

However, his features turned to stone when he saw Bruce Wayne coming at him.

It wasn’t that he seemed scared, exactly; Jason wasn’t scared of him, because he wasn’t scared to get hurt, or even scared to die. But even he couldn’t shake the respect he felt for the man, no matter how hard he tried.

Tim knew that, because, having Bruce Wayne being mad at you was the most horrible thing in the world for so many reasons.

The bickering stopped at once when Bruce arrived. Even Damian went still, finger still aggressively pointed in the air. He eyed his father with apprehension, steeling himself for another fight like the ones they always had, every day, about absolutely everything.

“Good evening.” Bruce took a quick look around. “Alfred, please keep the dinner warm, we’ll be another 30 minutes. Tim, Dick, thank you for coming. Damian, go show them those new Wii games you have. And _we -_ ”

He stepped up to Jason and put an arm around him in what seemed like a vice. “We’ll take a _walk_.”

Damian seemed to forget his quarrel with Dick for a moment. “What is he _doing_?” He hissed to his older brother, sounding as horrified as a kid whose dad had just started dancing at his graduation party.

“I’m sorry, little bro,” Dick had learned to smile again and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “You’re just gonna have to let this play out.”

Jason could have freed himself from that grip, Tim knew. It was hard to tell whether any of them were a true match for Batman, but Jason was sturdy and strong, he surely wasn’t helpless. But he didn’t. Instead, Tim saw a curious mix of nervousness, excitement and… _happiness…?_ wash over his features as Bruce dragged him away.

It was rare to see Damian Wayne so obviously not being on top of what was happening. “But…but…”

His dark face turned even darker, as he helplessly yelled, “I have an _Xbox_ , Father! It’s not a Wii, it’s an Xbox! We played together on it… _three times_!”


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce led him out into the garden. It was a warm, breezy night, pretty nice overall. Jason had never appreciated how good this garden looked when he’d lived here. All he’d cared about was fighting, capers, adventures, cool gadgets and kicking criminals in the teeth. He’d thought he’d be a hero his entire life. And that he and Batman would always be close. Or something.

Anyways, it was a great garden, he could see that now.

They walked in silence. Not the good kind of silence. Something was brooding in the tall man walking next to him, something sharp and furious.

“You’re not taking me out back to shoot me, right?” Jason quipped, after a while, giving him a sideways look. “Oh, wait. We kinda did a variation on that already, a few years back.”

Bruce growled like a wounded animal. “Knock it off.”

Jason bit his lip. He knew Bruce was right. That had been a petty and stupid thing to say. And he’d forgotten how little Bruce appreciated gun-related humor. Stuff like that was probably why they hadn’t gotten along that well in the long run. He shoved his hands into his pockets. As soon as he was alone with Bruce, he could feel himself slip back into that petulant, pouty attitude again.

It was as if the ghost of that moody, rebellious teenager who’d died a long time ago was still walking with them.

This was ridiculous. He was a _man_ now.

And if this was about him seeing Damian, or more likely, _not_ seeing him, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

He opened his mouth again. “Listen – ”

“I knew.” Bruce snapped, letting him out of his vice-like grip and turning to face him. “I knew it’d be you tonight. I had a slight hope that it wouldn’t be, but I didn’t really doubt it.”

That was so like him, opening like that.

Jason gave him a bitter smile. “Can’t say I’m surprised. And you let Grayson and Drake just run right into it? That’s cold.”

“This isn’t about them,” Bruce told him, using that wonky Batman logic.

Like always, when he was looking at him with those cold blue eyes, Jason felt like he was being tested. It sucked. Damian’s eyes were kinda similar to his, but they were … wild, expressive; a little deranged, which was cute. Bruce’s eyes only made him wary, not horny – which was probably good, because that’d be weird.

Jason returned his gaze, didn’t back down. He could do this all night. In some corner of his heart, he kinda wanted to. It wasn’t as if Damian and he would have had sex tonight, anyway. The boy would probably want to, because he always wanted to, but Jason would’ve told him no. With the noises they were making, they would’ve alerted the entire mansion. And they couldn’t do that to Alfred.

“Go on, smoke,” Bruce said with some slight disdain, still staring him down. “They’re in your pocket. I can tell you want to, and we’re outside.”

“Good.” He didn’t want to let him see how _much_ he’d wanted to, but he was still pretty quick to light one up. Screw the Batman and his disapproval of his habit.

“I don’t smoke that much,” he felt the need to point out anyway, even though he didn’t care what Bruce was thinking. He so didn’t care about it. “People think I do, but I don’t. I couldn’t afford it; I need to be able to run to and from things really fast, you know that.”

Bruce very visibly didn’t care. “After that one night – the one I don’t need to remind you of – I kept a close watch on you. I told Damian that I didn’t approve; which more or less ensured that he’d be running back to you.”

Jason abruptly looked away and stared at his boots, taking deep drags from his cigarette. That cut right to the bone, right to his nagging suspicion that the kid – despite the crazy sex they had – was only doing it because he knew that somehow, it’d come back to haunt his father.

Three months; they’d been on and off for three months, and that feeling would not go away.

Bruce was merciless. “I know about the hotel rooms and the aliases. I know about the phone calls. I read the e-mails.”

Jason stopped feeling anger and resentment for a moment to blush forcefully. He coughed. “You. Read them?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “I _skimmed_ them,” he mumbled. “You should be more discreet, however. People intercept these things.”

Jason couldn’t look at him. “Uh, clearly.”

Despite not seeing him, he could tell that Bruce was shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. “However. I also know that you don’t send mails of this nature to anybody else, and neither does he. I know that sometimes, he just writes to you about his day. I’ve noticed that he seems…happier, more at ease lately, to the extent that that’s possible. I know you wrote him he should relax more. I know you went to see a movie together, on March…4th?”

“March 5th.” Jason’s face was burning. 

“I didn’t even know Damian liked foreign films,” Bruce pondered.

Jason didn’t reply. He could not tell Bruce that all his advice on relaxation was strictly about orgasms, and that they’d only gone to the least popular movie they could find so they could do it in the back of an empty theater. It was all sex with them, all the time. Sex and fighting, and more sex. Because talking was hard, feelings were hard, relationships were hard, everything in their world was fucking hard; and their dicks were hardest.

Damian’s father seemed to have a totally different idea, because he had no clue for a change. “I know you helped him with his assignment on…”

“The armed conflict in Brnrvia,” Jason smiled wryly. “I was, uh…in the region back then.” Damian had no trouble with assignments, of course, but he’d jumped at the chance to include a first-hand report. That had been a pretty long, pretty cool talk they’d had, admittedly, with their clothes on.

“And there was the…” Bruce paused. He turned his head strategically so that they didn’t have to see each other’s faces. “There was the time he wanted to mail you an … intimate picture of himself, and you told him not to do it, because these things never end well. I appreciated that.”

“Yeah, well. I’m terrific.” He was glad they couldn’t see each other. Bruce saying he appreciated something he’d done made his pulse race. Also, this reminded him of how much he’d wanted that photo, and how frustrating it had been to turn that down. He put out the cigarette and immediately fished for another.

“Drop that into Alfred’s flowerbeds, and he’ll be cross with you.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” He stuffed the butt of his cigarette into his pocket.

Bruce’s face came into view again, his voice rumbling and majestic. “You know that I can never approve of this.”

Jason froze, the flame of his lighter flickering around the tip of his cigarette. Then, the corners of his mouth curled into a hard smile. That was typical Bruce; once Jason started to ease up a little bit, he’d change his tune. _Now_ they were getting into it.

“Uh-huh,” he replied coldly, cautiously.

“The things you do, Jason, you stand against everything I believe in, everything I fight for. I regret that it turned out this way, but I can’t change it.”

Jason closed his lighter with a loud snap. “Have you _seen_ my work?!” He asked bitterly. “Have you seen the crime rates in the corners I work in? Have you?”

“I have.” He didn’t sound impressed. “Smuggling and drug trafficking down, extortion and embezzlement up. But that’s not the matter here. I won’t lie: it’s killing a part of me that I can’t apprehend you right now, now that you’re in my home, and give you over to the authorities to get you the treatment that you so obviously need – ”

Jason hissed, crunching his pack of smokes in his fist. “Watch it – ”

Bruce didn’t respond to threats, never had. “… but I won’t. Because you are a guest of my son’s, and we are all civilians tonight. But I will not ever approve of this thing that’s happening between him and you.”

“Whatever, old man,” Jason snapped. “Damian is not a kid anymore. He can do whatever he likes, and you know it. You can’t tell him what to do.”

“Very true.” Bruce leaned down. It was strange that Jason had grown to be this huge dude, yet Batman was still towering over him. “I can’t tell _him_ what to do. But I can ask you not to betray the trust I’m placing in you tonight.”

Jason blinked. After a long-ish moment of silence, he whispered: “There’s trust?” In the same tone a little child would have asked “There’s cake?”

His former mentor nodded. “It is like you said. I can’t tell him not to meet with you. But I have seen enough to know that you have no bad intentions.” He sighed, a rough, imposing sound. “They are…very _basic_ , your intentions, but not bad. And I won’t interfere.” 

His blue eyes flashed dangerously. “But if you hurt him, Jason, so help me. I will come at you with everything I have.”

Jason blinked at him, and let out a throaty chuckle. “Between me and Damian, you think _I’ll_ hurt _him_? That’s…cute, Bruce.”

As always, Batman, Bruce, didn’t need gestures, or finger-pointing, or arm-grabbing to make his point; his voice and his gleaming eyes did all the work.

“You will _not_ go on patrol with him. I don’t like your methods. You’ll undo years of work I’ve done with him.”

“Yes.”

“You will _not_ let him smoke, drink unreasonably, or drive drunk.”

“Hell. No. I’m a crazy person, not an asshole.”

“You won’t rent out hotel rooms anymore. Those are unsafe and unsanitary. But if he won’t be home the next morning, you _will_ tell him to notify Alfred.”

“Understood.”

“You will practice safe sex.”

“We do.”

After that tumultuous first encounter, they actually did.

“Good.” 

That single word of – what? Approval? – hung heavily in the air like smoke.

Bruce looked at his watch. “This has been almost half an hour. It would be impolite to delay Alfred any longer. He’s worked hard on that dinner.” He turned back towards the house. “Let’s go.”

Jason was still struggling to wrap his head around whatever it was that had just happened. “I’ll … eat with you?”

“Of course.” Bruce retorted, his back turned. “I wasn’t the one that invited you, therefore I cannot kick you out, unless you do something inappropriate like pull a steak knife on somebody, try to poison everyone, or be rude to Dick and Tim, who I _did_ invite.”

That last part would be hard. But if he got to have an actual, civilized dinner with Damian, which was something they’d never tried, and if there would be steak (that Alfred had prepared, at that) … he’d give it a shot.

“What about the, uh, sleepover?” He called after Bruce, still frozen in place.

Bruce growled. “Don’t get cocky.” But then, he lingered for a moment. “…we’ll see.”

Jason just stood between the flowerbeds in the garden of his former home, staring at his back, feeling his face grow warmer and warmer by the second, until Bruce turned his head.

“Are you coming, or not?”

And when Batman asked you that, there was only one appropriate response.

 

*****

“No-one likes a tattle tale, Drake.”

Tim had been about to grab the video game controller, when Damian ripped it out of his hands, giving him a death glare instead.

“Right, because Bruce wouldn’t have figured it out,” Dick commented sarcastically from the chair he was slumped in, rubbing his temples. “He has no opinion on who enters his house. That’s what makes him the man he is.”

Tim crossed his arms again and leaned towards his little brother…thing, eyebrows raised. “And besides, you know who the biggest supporters for no-snitching policies are, right? _Criminals_.”

Damian gave him a dead-eyed stare. “ _Boy_ , I really wonder why _you_ never bring dates around,” he spat. Then, he tossed the controller onto the heap of gadgets on the table.

“We’re not playing,” He announced, bossily. “I don’t feel like playing, so none of you will be playing. It’s my X-Box. And I have Gears Of War 7. It’s really good. But you won’t get to play it.”

“I have that at home,” Tim mumbled, but trailed off. He could tell that all that anger wasn’t really directed at them. For a change, Tim Drake wasn’t the person that Damian was _really_ mad at.

“It’s been twenty-five minutes and eighteen seconds,” the youngest Wayne suddenly blurted out. “Where _are_ they? What is he _doing_ with him?”

“Maybe he threw him out already,” Tim said hopefully.

“I didn’t hear a car or bike,” Dick replied, sounding disappointed. 

Damian scrunched up his nose. “You should both be ashamed.”

“ _We_ should be ashamed?” Dick seemed seriously hurt, but then, his voice became lower, milder. “You could have told me, you know. I thought we trusted each other. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Damian scoffed, but the look he gave him was a little guilty. “ _Tsk_ , and give you a head-start on complaining about it?”

“Do you like him?” Dick asked sharply, and Tim realized he wasn’t a part of this conversation anymore.

“Cloying, Grayson” Damian snarled, “And none of your business.” But Tim thought he could see his face turn dark again.

Dick wasn’t backing down. “It’s kind of important. Because I’m starting to think that you only did this to stir the pot.”

Damian looked at Tim. “You never told him?”

Now, Dick was looking at him. “Told me what?”

Tim mumbled something, then took out his phone to check his messages. He could apologize to Dick later; and he absolutely would. Dick and Damian went back to seizing each other up.

“If you must know,” Damian said defiantly, and now he was _clearly_ blushing, “He lets me do stuff to him, and I do like that. _A lot_.”

Dick and Tim winced simultaneously.

“Well,” Dick said after he’d found his voice again , “I know you’re new to dating and all, but there’s rules. And if you happen to date someone who, at one point or the other, has tried to shoot you, or usurp your father, or kill all of your friends, you _drop them a note_ , okay?”

“He’s not going to _do_ anything!” Damian almost shouted, looking exasperated. “He promised. And I – I only invited him because he really wanted to come!”

Dick started at that. “He – what?”

Damian sank into his chair like a pouting teen who had trouble with his girlfriend. “Yes. I told him about dinner, and he got really excited, until I couldn’t back out. I could’ve done without all of this.” He waved his hand. “To be honest, I’d rather be meeting at that motel on the 71st. This is highly inconvenient for me. I’m beginning to suspect he won’t even let me – ”

“Wait,” Dick interrupted, because a thought seemed to have hit him, and also because nobody needed to hear the rest of that sentence, obviously. He’d started smirking for some reason.

“So. You did a nice thing for him, even though it goes against your own interests; which is even rarer than a total eclipse of the sun. That’s how much you _like_ him.”

Damian’s eyes turned into narrow slits. “Why are you smiling. We’re still fighting. …right?”

“Eh.” Dick shrugged. “I can never resist a good bad romance. Now that I know more about it … I _kinda_ want to know where it’s going. If Bruce returns your boyfriend, that is.”

“Dick!” Tim scolded him.

“He’s not my _boyfriend_!” Damian protested angrily.

“Oh, he’s not?” His older brother wiggled his brows. “You know what, I think teasing you about this will be even _more_ fun than if you’d be dating some random dude – ”

“True,” Tim admitted. Dick turned to him in excitement. “And we haven’t even discussed the possibilities of making fun of _Jason_ for it,” he enthused.

“Oh! That’s.” Tim had to laugh despite himself. “That’s brilliant.”

Damian’s eyelid had started twitching. “When did I lose the upper hand in this?” He whispered, under his breath.

Dick gave him a sympathetic slap on the back. “Oh, Damian. Did you ever have it?”

That put the boy into defensive overdrive. “Fine. Then I’ll break up with him. There. Because I can do that, and now you look like an idiot.”

“You’re breaking up with me?”

They turned around. Jason Todd stood there, hands shoved deeply into his pockets, looking as out of place as he’d done before, but more sheepishly pleased with himself for some reason. The corners of his mouth were twitching.

“Does that mean we were _together_ at some point?”

Damian blinked at him, face frozen. “Yes. No. What?” His blush deepened. “Let’s not discuss that now. Where were you, and who do you think you are?”

“I was with him,” Jason said matter-of-factly, pointing his thumb at Bruce, who had now come into view, looking as dignified and unreadable as always. “’s all good. Don’t worry about it. Now, about that break-up thing – ”

The son of the Bat stared at each of them in horror, scowling. “You two don’t get to have secrets from me,” he said, in a silent, deadly voice.

The two men at the door exchanged a look, and Bruce nodded. “I’ll tell you all about it later,” Jason promised. Then, he came forward and offered Damian his arm, like a real date would. Eh. When it came down to it, he did possess some rudimentary charm. “But, first. Dinner, right?”

“And in time, too.” Bruce said. “Let’s sit, and talk. About _normal_ matters.” He put a lot of emphasis on that.

Jason endured Damian’s sourly, mystified frown with amusement, and for the first time tonight, yeah, Tim Drake could kinda see it.

“Sure,” Damian eventually agreed. He still looked vaguely homicidal when he grabbed Jason’s arm with some force, but fairly curious, as well. “Dinner. We’ll…talk. Later.”

Getting up from his chair, Dick Grayson was giddily fumbling with his cellphone. “Man, I really hope I still have enough memory on here to take pictures. Because I definitely, absolutely will be taking pictures.”

“Gentlemen.”

Alfred chose that moment to poke his head in. When he saw them all gathered together, the ghost of a smile crossed his features.

“It is served.”


End file.
